


Good Boy

by notastranger



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, M/M, Post-Movie, doggie!, some sad feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 17:57:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notastranger/pseuds/notastranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max is bored. Max wants to play, but Grandpa is busy. Maybe someone else will play with Max?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Somniate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Somniate/gifts).



It was mid-morning, and Max was bored.

He had already eaten his kibble and taken a walk around the Shatterdome with Grandpa. But now Grandpa wanted to sit at his desk and look at pieces of paper even though Max was holding his favorite toy in his mouth, the squeaky red rubber ball that felt good on his teeth.

“Not now,” Grandpa said. “I have work to do.”

Max whined and dropped the ball on the ground. Maybe if he looked at the papers, too, Grandpa would play with him? He hopped onto his hind legs and pawed at the desk drawers.

“Max!” Grandpa sounded mad. And tired. Max got back down on all fours. “Just be a good boy and lie down, okay? We’ll play later.” Grandpa scratched behind his ears and it felt really good, but it was over too quickly.

Max whuffed disappointedly. Grandpa did not play with him as much as he would like, and definitely not as much as Daddy did. But he hadn’t seen Daddy in a while, and when he sniffed at Daddy’s bed, Grandpa would look really sad. One time he held Max and cried, but Max licked his face until he stopped. He didn’t want Grandpa to be sad.

But he also wanted to play. He trotted over to the open door and looked back at Grandpa. Grandpa was still staring at papers.

Maybe someone else would play with him? Max slipped out the door.

~*~

The hallway was empty. There used to be lots of people walking around, so crowded sometimes that Max worried he would get stepped on. He listened for the sounds of people talking, but all he heard was the clicking of his toenails as he trotted along.

Max rounded a corner. Eventually he would reach the mess hall, and that was his most favorite place in the whole Shatterdome.

(His least favorite place was the cargo bay where Grandpa would drag out a metal tub and give him a bath. Yuck!)

Max’s ears perked up at the sounds of people yelling. Normally he didn’t like yelling, but he recognized the voices; they belonged to Short One and One with Stick. They yelled a lot, but only at each other. It made Max think of playing tug-of-war with Daddy over his rope toy, how he wanted that rope _so bad_ that he’d growl, but he wasn’t _really_ mad, just playing.

Short One was very friendly and gave Max good belly rubs, but sometimes he smelled like sharp chemicals that made Max’s nose hurt. One with Stick had a stick and Max tried to grab it once so they could play tug-of-war, and One with Stick yelled at him and so did Grandpa, and they were _not_ playing. That was a bad day.

He followed the voices to a room full of glass jars and giant black squares with chalk on them. Max was not allowed in this room, but Short One and One with Stick were still yelling at one another and didn’t seem to notice him yet. He shuffled inside, nose twitching at the unfamiliar smells.

“—actually _listen_ to me instead of just vomiting up more statistics—“ Short One turned away from the black square and blinked when he caught sight of Max. “Hey, buddy,” he grinned, and Max wagged his tail. “What’re you doing here?”

Max trotted over to Short One who kneeled down and vigorously massaged the fat rolls on his neck. It felt _wonderful_.

“Marshall Hansen’s dog should not be in the lab,” One with Stick said disapprovingly, walking to the doorway and peering out while muttering something about runaway dogs.

“Who’s a good boy?” Short One asked Max, scratching under his jowls. Max lolled out his tongue happily. “That’s right, _you’re_ a good boy!”

“Newton!” One with Stick snapped, and Max lowered his ears. “Stop encouraging him!”

“Aw, don’t listen to him, Max.” Short One cooed soothingly. “Herm’s just being a mean ol’ grumpyface because he knows he’s wrong and won’t admit it.”

“I’m not wrong,” One with Stick frowned.

“He’s totally wrong,” Short One whispered into Max’s ear.

“You are talking to a _dog_.” One with Stick’s frown turned into a grimace and he rubbed at his thigh.

Short One stood up and hurried over to One with Stick. Max whined because he wasn’t done being petted (although he never really knew when he _would_ be done, no one had petted him long enough to find out), and followed at his heels.

One with Stick waved his hand as if warding off an attack. “I’ll be fine, Newton.”

“Dude, don’t start with the stiff upper lip crap. Take a break on the couch, you can still be wrong sitting down.”

Couch?! Max didn’t know there was a _couch_ in this room! He wagged his tail and looked up at One with Stick imploringly, hoping he could also get to sit on the couch.

“See?” Short One wheedled. “Max agrees with me.”

“How is it possible for the two of you to be making the same face?” One with Stick muttered, but he had lost his frown. He headed to the corner of the room and sat down on a well-worn couch, stretching out his leg in front of him.

Max immediately hopped up and snuffled the cushions for crumbs.

One with Stick wordlessly handed his stick to Short One, who propped it against the side of the couch before also sitting down and kneading his fingers into One with Stick’s thigh.

“We’re in the lab, Newton, this is hardly professional,” One with Stick grumbled, but Max could tell that he liked being petted. Short One was very good at it.

Max settled onto his side and whined. He wanted to be petted, too!

“Sorry, buddy,” Short One laughed. “Got my hands full.”

One with Stick reached out and tentatively stroked the top of Max’s head. “There, there,” he said quietly. It reminded Max of Grandpa.

Max rolled onto his back encouragingly and wiggled closer. One with Stick scratched his chest and it felt _so good_ that his hind legs started to twitch.

“I thought you weren’t a dog-person,” Short One asked One with Stick in a way that sounded like he was laughing inside.

“He reminds me of someone,” One with Stick replied in the same tone.

Max shut his eyes and basked in the attention.

“There you are,” said a familiar voice from the doorway. It was Grandpa! Max sat up in a hurry and jumped off the couch, running over to him and barking excitedly. He got to sit on a couch! And got petted!

“You naughty git,” Grandpa said, crouching down to scratch behind his ears. He attached a leash to Max’s collar – _bummer_ – and stood back up. “Sorry about that, he snuck out of my office while I wasn’t looking.”

One with Stick was trying to stand up but Short One was keeping a firm hand on his shoulder. “It’s fine, Marshall. Max was a good boy.”

“I’m sure he was. C’mon, Max.” Grandpa tugged gently on the leash and led Max out into the hallway. “It’s a good thing you’re cute,” he added, for Max’s ears alone. “Or you’d be in some serious hot water right now.”

Max trotted obediently by his side. He could still hear One with Stick and Short One as they started talking again, more quietly than before.

“How’s your leg?”

“Much better, thank you… what?”

“Just thinking that maybe we should have Max over more often. Petting him really improved your mood.”

“That won’t be necessary, Newton.”

“And why’s th— _oh._ ”

“That’s a good boy.”

Max wagged his tail.

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for my wonderful friend who came up with the cutest prompt request ever. <3


End file.
